


Illusions of Grandeur

by hannibalmontanabal



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Mindfuck, cannibros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/828954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalmontanabal/pseuds/hannibalmontanabal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For an anonymous prompt that Hannibal helps to stabilize Will after Will has a break down. This kind of went in an unexpected direction and turned out a bit darker than I expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Illusions of Grandeur

Will hasn’t slept in he can’t remember how long. Reality seems to move around him like molasses, like he’s suspended in time. Moving faster and also slower than everything around him. Jack Crawford has said something, and is waiting impatiently for a response. When Will tries to replay Jack’s words in his mind, all he imagines is Jack’s lips mouthing something in slow motion. He can’t even fathom what Jack could have said. He stares blankly for a moment, slack-jawed and suspended in sleepless stupor. Jack looks annoyed, but then, Jack usually looks annoyed.

“I uh.” Will mumbles, the words feeling strange in his mouth. He licks his lips and tries again. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Where are you today, Will?” Jack asks, his features expressing genuine concern. 

Will hasn’t had enough coffee for this, he thinks.

He didn’t hear Hannibal approach him, so when the older man walks up from behind him, Will practically jumps out of his skin and nearly knocks the cup of coffee out of Hannibal’s hand. Somehow not a drop spills, which is extremely fortunate. Will gets the feeling that Hannibal would kill anyone clumsy enough to ruin one of those overwhelmingly expensive suits. 

“Good morning, Will.” Hannibal says, and Will’s mind gets caught in the sticky web of his accent. The confusing syllables and consonants melting in Will’s mind like honey and disintegrating to nothing but a blur of sound. “I trust you slept well.” Will almost laughs at this. It almost feels like Hannibal is mocking him with the politeness that radiates from every pore.

Will simply grimaces in response, wanting nothing more than.. What? He isn’t even sure what he wants. Nothing appeals, but anything would be better than to be here. In the motel room ahead awaits a gory crime scene, where Will will be expected to lose himself in the mind of a killer. Will doesn’t feel up to it, but that doesn’t matter. Not when lives are on the line. Hannibal’s voice pulls him out of the fog, elegant hands offering the coffee Will almost spilled. 

“I had the strangest notion that you might need something stronger than gas station coffee. I hope you don’t mind, I took the liberty of brewing you a cup of espresso myself.” Hannibal explains calmly. Hannibal is always so immaculately calm, and Will realizes just how eagerly he wants to make Hannibal express  _something._ Feel fucking  _something._ Will is being pulled apart at the seems and is constantly teetering over the edge of insanity, and Hannibal’s eyes just watch with such fucking serenity that it’s enough to make Will crawl out of his skin. He accepts the mug and frowns. It’s still steaming. How the hell can Hannibal not only know how desperately Will needed strong coffee (before Will even knew about it, honestly), but also present it to him hot. Will can smell a combination of spices intermingling with the espresso. Cinnamon, nutmeg, and something else. Will huffs, thinking it’s probably something too fancy for his dull sense to catch. Fuck, it’s probably too fancy for his dull mind to even comprehend.

“It’s cardamom.”  Hannibal tells him, watching Will stare into the coffee with what is certainly a look of despair. Will nods, too exhausted and simultaneously on edge to wonder how Hannibal knew the answer to a question he hadn’t even voiced.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will sees the stag, looming just out of reach and bringing with it a familiar sense of impending doom. He scrubs a hand over his face, wondering when he last shaved. 

The three men walk slowly towards the door to the motel room, and Will is bracing himself for impact.

In just a few moments, he will forget who he is. Pull himself into the skin of a killer, and he knows beyond a doubt that he will find it a little too comfortable. Unethically accommodating. He always does. 

His mouth is dry, and he gulps down the coffee.

_Shit that’s good._

_  
_It is somehow comforting having Hannibal there. Knowing that when he is completely lost in his empathy, imagining his hands covered in someone else’s blood, that Hannibal will be there to bring him back. Put him in his place. Make him see just a little more clearly. He let’s out a raspy sigh, and waits for Jack to open the door.

“What do you see?” Jack asks, and Will shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to see. Doesn’t want to feel.

But see and feel he does. He drops to his knees beside the lifeless body of two infant girls, their blood coating the walls. Will says nothing, consumed in the play of events slowly orchestrating in his mind as the pieces pull together.

“We should let him be.” Hannibal says, his voice sounding so far away that Will aches for it to be closer. Jack Crawford and Dr. Lecter leave quietly, and Will is left to his own devices.

 

Will doesn’t remember what happens next. Not completely. Recollection comes in disconcerting waves, washing over Will and threatening to fill his lungs with confusion. 

He’s told that he was only alone in that room for a few minutes before he started screaming.

He knows Hannibal was the one to rush in and pull him up, carry him out, and whisper soothing things. Will feels as though Hannibal saved him from drowning, but he doesn’t remember. 

When Will comes to his senses, he’s covered in blood. Real blood. The blood of those two children.

Apparently, he contaminated another crime scene and Jack looks worried. There’s talk that Will might need to be pulled from the ripper case. From all cases. Will knows that won’t really happen. He’s much too valuable.

He knows that the person who killed those babies in their sleep was their own mother. They’ll be able to pull blood and tissue from the decimated crime scene to prove it. 

Apparently, he was screaming hysterically. He still shakes and sobs, though he isn’t entirely sure why. Sniffling, and feeling small and frayed under the cover of a shock blanket.

Apparently he’d smeared the coagulated blood onto his face and into his hair.

Apparently he spilled the coffee after all, though at least it wasn’t on Hannibal.

Hannibal holds his hand and it’s the most reassuring thing in the world, right now. The only thing that matters. Hannibal will prescribe him something. Hannibal will give him a clean psyche evaluation. Hannibal will fix it.

“Thank you.” Will says, his own voice sounding foreign and far away in the back of Jack’s car. Hannibal smiles,  _truly smiles_ , in response. 

“Who are you talking to?” Jack asks, eyeing Will cautiously in the rear view mirror. Jack is frowning, but then again Jack is usually frowning. 

“Dr. Lecter.” Will answers, confused. Hannibal squeezes Will’s hands, and Will thinks that for once it seems as though the doctor may actually be feeling _something_. Expressing  _something_.

“We’ve already called Dr. Lecter for you, Will.” Jack says. “He’s on his way to meet us at the hospital as we speak. He was with a patient, but he left the office as soon as he heard about your mental state.”

Will doesn’t really hear the words. Just watches Jack’s lips move with disinterest. Hannibal’s smile curls and widens and his teeth turn into knives.

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, praise, corrections and prompts always welcome.


End file.
